


SVS-08: The Thick Blue wall

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, Humor, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Romance, Series: The Sentinel Slash Virtual Season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While trying to help a battered woman and her child, Jim and Blair must face some hard facts about police society and their relationship.<br/>This story is a sequel to SVS-07: Regrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SVS-08: The Thick Blue wall

**Author's Note:**

> Episodes of SVS may contain depictions of consensual m/m sex. These depictions may or may not be accompanied by specific mention of items necessary for safe and healthy intercourse. It is the intention of FiveSenses, Inc. and all SVS authors that, even when such items are not explicitly mentioned, their use is to be assumed as a matter of course. All of us at FiveSenses, Inc. are aware of the risks of unprotected sex in today's world and strongly advocate the practice of safe sex, including the use of condoms and other protective devices.

## SVS-08: The Thick Blue wall

by MrsHamill

Author's webpage: <http://www.squidge.org/5Senses/>

Author's disclaimer: This story is an episode of The Sentinel Slash Virtual Season (SVS), produced by FiveSenses, Inc. SVS is based on characters and concepts developed by, and belonging to, Pet Fly Productions. This story is intended for private, personal enjoyment only. No money is being made, or will be allowed to be made, by the author of this story or by FiveSenses, Inc. from the writing and distribution of this story. Any original characters introduced in an SVS episode belongs to the episode author and to FiveSenses, Inc. and should not be used without their permission.

Warmest thanks from FiveSenses, Inc. to Fox and Gryph for their much appreciated contributions in beta reading this story. 

Comm (especially WoD) for helping and letting me play in their sandbox. I've really enjoyed my first foray into the world of Sentinel. Both My Sister's House and the world's fastest lawnmower are real. Truly. I couldn't make up this stuff if I tried! 

Author's e-mail address: thamill@cox.rr.com 

Author's webpage: Um...under construction at the moment. (Look for me in 2001 at <http://www.squidge.org/~foxsden/>) 

Warnings: Domestic violence discussed and intimated. 

* * *

The Thick Blue Wall by MrsHamill 

The woman who walked into the Sixth Precinct early that morning, a young toddler in tow, was quite petite. That was just about all anyone could say about her; she wore a long-sleeved drab raincoat, a large scarf tied around her head and huge dark sunglasses that hid most of her face. The little boy with her was three or four, and looked solemnly around as the woman urged him along. 

Sergeant Lucy Hernandez, who had pulled desk duty that morning, smiled at the woman as she approached. "Can I help you?" 

The soft reply was drowned out by the little boy's cries of "Mama!." The woman lifted him to sit on the edge of the counter. Perched there, his head was only a bit below hers. 

"Hush, Richie, let me talk to this lady," she said, touching her forehead briefly to his. Turning to the desk sergeant, she continued. "I -- I need to file a complaint," she said softly. "Against... about my -- my husband." 

Hernandez, a ten year veteran of the Cascade PD, had seen and heard it all before, so the softly-spoken request didn't phase her. It pleased her in a grim way, maybe -- especially when the little boy playfully grabbed the sunglasses off his mother's face, revealing a painfully swollen cheek and a nasty black eye -- but it didn't surprise her. Putting on her best sympathetic expression, she pulled out the proper forms and began the litany. "Of course, ma'am. Let's start with your name?" 

"Tina," the other woman whispered, slipping the glasses back on. "Ervin. Tina Ervin. E-R-V-I-N." 

"And your husband's name?" 

"Richard Ervin." After a slight pause, she went on, even more softly, "Officer Richard Ervin." 

* * *

Blair Sandburg rolled his eyes. "Oh please, Jim, man, tell me you're joking. The auto show?" 

Keeping his eyes on the traffic before the truck, his partner Jim Ellison replied defensively. "And what's wrong with that, Chief?" 

Snorting, the younger man said, "It's just so... so... tacky. So bourgeois. Next thing you know you'll be wanting to go to the Monster Truck Rally." 

"Bourgeois?" Jim replied, laughing incredulously. "Did I hear you right, Karl Marx? This coming from the man who absolutely _had_ to go to the carnival at the mall last week?" 

Blair easily fended off the playful slap aimed at his chest, laughing himself. "Hey! That was for a good cause! It's not like any of the proceeds from this thing will go to anyone who needs it... all half-naked bimbos showing off oversexed engines for rich white guys..." 

"You know what? I think you're jealous," Jim broke into his partner's muttering, grinning. "You know you'll never have any kind of muscle car like they show... not on your salary anyway... and that's why you don't want to go with me." 

"Ha ha ha. That is really funny, Ellison. I just can't believe... hey, where are you going?" 

Jim glanced at him as he slowed to make a left turn. "There's a new Schlotsky's open down here -- I thought you were hungry?" 

"Ewww, man! Schlotsky's? Forget it. We still have, what, an hour before we meet with Glasser?" 

"Yeah..." Jim said slowly. 

"Then keep going straight. I'll take us somewhere where they have real food... not that yuppified dreck." Waving his hands around and studiously ignoring Jim's long-suffering expression, Blair indicated further down the road. "Turn right on Fourth, then go into the alley behind the theater." 

"Yes, oh great leader of the proletariat," Jim replied drolly. 

"Hey! I resemble that remark." 

"Care to tell me where we're going?" Jim asked a moment later, making the right turn. "And care to fill me in on what's wrong with the Monster Truck Rally?" 

"I will not even dignify that one with a response," Blair said loftily. "As for where we're going, it's a little place called Shipman's Deli and Grocer. Best food in Cascade, man." 

"Uh-huh." 

The two men continued to trade insults and playful smacks as Jim parked the truck and they walked to the tiny shop front. Jim wrinkled up his nose the moment the door opened. "Is that pastrami?" he asked, blinking. 

"Yeah," Blair bounced happily, "pastrami, liverwurst, gefilte fish, challa... this place is a gold mine." At the sound of the bells on the door, a short, rotund woman looked up from behind an old-fashioned counter. Jim noted a few grocery items surrounding the massive cooler, but it looked like the place did its main business in sandwiches. 

"Blair! Bubeleh! Where have you been, you silly boy? And who is the handsome sheygets with you?" 

"Don't even think it," Blair murmured sotto voce to his partner, who was valiantly trying to retain his laughter. "Ethel!" he called to the woman, taking her hand over the counter. "Sorry it's been so long. This is my partner, Jim Ellison. Jim, this is Ethel Shipman, owner of this wonderful place, which is rather empty for lunchtime, nu?" 

Donning plastic gloves, Ethel sighed. "Lotsa new competition, hon, damn gentiles. But the precinct breaks for lunch in half an hour and the cops will all descend on me. Until then, what can I getcha?" 

Pressing his nose against the glass of the cooler, Blair nearly salivated at the display before him. "Oh, man, do you still have that onion challa?" 

"For you, of course!" Ethel laughed, pulling a braided loaf out of a bin and attacking it with a large knife. "And on it?" 

"Ohhh... lessee. I think I'll have that peppered roast beef, and oh! You've got fresh horseradish, don't you? Do you still have that wonderful spicy mustard?" 

Grinning, the efficient woman assembled a monstrous sandwich as Blair spoke. "One or two pickles, bubbie?" 

"Two, please, oh thank you, Ethel," Blair breathed as she wrapped the sandwich in butcher paper. 

"Sure hope it doesn't any colder," Jim muttered, "'cause it looks like I'll have the windows of the truck open all afternoon." Blair gave him a withering glance but didn't respond. 

"And what will you have, Blair's partner?" Ethel asked as she fished two huge dill pickles out of a brown jar. 

Jim turned on the famous Ellison smile for her, as she was obviously at least a friend of his beloved guide. Her answering grin was almost as brilliant. "Well, that pastrami smells fabulous," he said, shooting Blair a glance from the corner of his eye. "But I think I'll just have it on plain old rye with a _mild_ mustard." 

Booming a laugh, the woman finished assembling their lunch -- after giving a surprised Jim a choice between seeded and unseeded rye bread -- and watched, bemused, as a silent battle ensued over who could draw a wallet first. Blair won, finally. "I _am_ getting a paycheck now, you know..." he muttered, handing Ethel a bill. 

"Yeah, yeah, Chief, I know," Jim responded, shoving his wallet back reluctantly. As Blair pocketed his change, the older man grabbed the sandwiches and bottled water he had added to the order. Moving to one of three small, wobbly tables competing for space in the cramped store, they had to sidestep to avoid a small woman coming through the door. Sitting, they heard Ethel greet her new customer with another booming welcome. 

"So, bubeleh," Jim said, grinning as Blair tried to glare at him over a huge bite of sandwich, "how come you never told me about your relationship with Ethel? Or were you just planning on leaving me hanging?" 

"Bite me, Ellison," Blair mumbled around a mouthful of food. 

"Later, bubeleh, later," Jim responded, taking a bite of his own sandwich. Blair had to laugh at the look of pleased surprise that came over his partner's face. "This is really good! You _have_ been holding out on me!" 

Taking a bite from his pickle, Blair grinned. "I knew you'd figure it out sooner or later," he chuckled. 

"Just hand over the other pickle and nobody gets hurt," Jim growled, snatching the dill from the wrappings over Blair's half-hearted protests. "So tell me again why you don't want to go to the auto show with me." 

Groaning in protest, Blair took another bite. "Oh, come on, man! All right, all right," he conceded reluctantly, "I'll go with you, but just don't expect me to have a good time." 

"Chief, they've got a Humvee modified for civilian use there; they've got _the world's fastest lawnmower_ there," Jim said, his eyes taking on a slightly dreamy glaze. 

Completely unimpressed, Blair crunched on another bite of pickle. Behind him, the woman left the deli, bumping into his chair and apologizing. "That's all right," he said to her, smiling. "You just want to get a line on a new vehicle you can destroy in the line of duty," he continued to Jim. "In the first place, you don't have a lawn. In the second place, who on earth would need a lawnmower that can go 50 miles per hour?" 

"Sixty, Chief," Jim responded, pointing the pickle at him accusingly. "Pay attention. I go to museum openings with you, you can come to this with me. And besides, it has nothing to do with the practicality of the... what?" 

Blair was looking out the window over Jim's left shoulder, frowning. "I know that guy, I think. What's going on out there?" 

Twisting in his chair, Jim saw the woman who had just left the deli being accosted by a man wearing a dark uniform -- a cop? -- whose back was to them. He had a bruising hold of her upper arm, and appeared to be talking to her intensely while she tried to pull away. Extending his hearing, Jim listened in. 

"Please, Rich, let go," the woman was saying, tears thickening her voice. 

"No, you stupid bitch, I'll never let go. Haven't you figured that out yet?" the man answered, his voice low and dangerous. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you got me into? Do you know what I walked into this morning at work? Do you?" 

"Rich, you're supposed to stay away from me, you know that," she mumbled, wincing as he shook her arm, hard. 

"Dammit, will you just listen to me! I've been trying to apologize, I never meant to hit you so hard, but you just make me so mad! Don't you see that? Don't you..." 

"Is there a problem here?" 

Jim's calm, bland tones broke into the tension of the tableau and the couple turned. Blair stood just to one side of Jim, and he blinked in surprise as he saw the other man's face. "This is a private matter, you mind..." 

"Wait, I do know you!" Blair broke in. "Ervin. Right? From the Sixth. I met you last month when I did that tour of the substations." 

His jaw dropping, the uniformed man reluctantly let go of the woman's arm and swallowed. "Oh. Yeah. Sandburg. You -- you're that consultant. I remember." 

"Then you'll know my partner, Detective Ellison?" Blair's light tone was belied by the tightness of his lips and the gleam of anger in his eyes. Beyond Officer Ervin's shoulder, he could see the woman's damaged face; the dark glasses she had been hiding behind had dropped to the ground in the scuffle, along with the bag of groceries from Shipman's. From the stiff posture of his partner, Blair knew Jim had seen the bruises as well. 

"You on your break, _Officer_?" Jim asked, his voice still bland but his body language screaming tension. His eyes narrowed further as he noted the absence of the policeman's shield and gun. 

"Uh, no, not exactly. Detective. But... but I guess it's getting pretty late," he mumbled, staring at the pavement. 

"Yeah, I think it is," Jim responded softly. "Very late." 

Shooting the two men a black look, Ervin strode away. Blair immediately went to the woman, helping her with the bag of groceries and picking up her sunglasses. "Are you all right, Miss...?" 

"Mrs.," she replied softly, quickly slipping the glasses back on her face. "Mrs. Ervin. Tina. I'm fine. Thank you." 

"Our pleasure, ma'am," Jim said, sadly looking after the woman's husband. "I'm Detective Ellison and this is my partner, Blair Sandburg. Would... would you like any help in filing charges?" 

"Oh, that's... no. It's okay... I... I did this morning," she confessed, her lower lip trembling. "I just had to, just had to..." 

"That's good," Blair said gently, patting her arm. "You did the right thing. You did." When she wouldn't look up at him, Blair shot Jim a helpless glance. 

Pulling out his card, Jim handed it to the woman. "Here, take this, please. If you need help, well, don't hesitate to call me, either of us..." 

Taking his cue, Blair pulled out one of his dwindling supply of PD-issued, battered cards. With a pen from his jacket pocket, he quickly wrote on the back of it. "Yeah, either of us. I can refer you to some help at the University, you know, legal stuff, if you'd like. Here's my cell number and our home number too. If you ever need help..." 

Finally, she looked up at them, an incredulous look on her face. "You'd... you'd do that?" she gasped softly. "But... you're cops. Like him. They... they told me at the station that he wouldn't... that they couldn't do anything..." She looked between the two men, licking cracked lips nervously. 

Jim's jaw clenched so hard Blair heard the crack and winced. "That's not how it's done, ma'am," the big man said softly, tightly. "I don't know what you were told, but that's not how it's done." 

"Thank you," she whispered, a faint smile on her face. Carefully, she tucked the two cards into her purse, then took the bag of groceries from Blair. 

"Do you need help getting home?" Blair asked. 

"No, oh, no thank you, I'll be fine," she said, her voice a little firmer, her back a little straighter under their concern. "I'll be fine now. Thank you so much." 

Without a word to each other, the two men went back to their neglected lunches. From behind the counter, Ethel caught Blair's eyes and nodded, smiling in grim approval. 

After a few minutes of silent eating, Blair said, "Thanks, man." 

"For what?" 

"For giving her your card. For making sure I gave her mine. For letting her... letting her believe we'd be able to help her." 

Jim sat back in his chair, staring out the dirty glass at the street. "I fully intend to, Chief," he finally said. "I hate that. Men that would do that to a woman." 

Blair shook his head. "He's a cop, Jim. You know what went down. He was called on the carpet, his hands slapped, and an official reprimand put in his file. I'm doing my new dissertation on the closed society of the police, for God's sake. It's what happens." 

"No. No, not if I can help it," Jim muttered, his hand clenching into a fist on the table. "Did you see her _face_ , Chief? Did you see what he did to her? Just because he's a cop doesn't mean he can get away with crap like that." 

"Jim," Blair said softly -- and after looking around to make sure they were alone -- he added, lower still, "lover. I think we're going beyond professional concern here," No one else was in the store at the time, so Blair rubbed his hand soothingly over Jim's tight fist, encouraging it to relax. "Maybe we need to talk about this -- later." 

Taking a deep breath, holding it, then slowly blowing it out, Jim forced himself to relax. He looked back across the table to the man who meant everything in his life and found concern, approval, and pride in the deep blue eyes. "Yeah. Maybe we should. Later. Right now, we got an appointment with a bad guy." 

"A possible bad guy, Jim," Blair responded lightly, rising and gathering up their trash. The deli was just beginning to fill with people as they made their way out. "Don't forget due process. He's only guilty if we can catch him at it." 

"Yeah, yeah, come on Judge Judy. We gotta hustle." 

* * *

The interview with Glasser didn't pan out, and it was a disgruntled pair that made their way back to the station. Blair didn't come up with Jim; instead, saying he had a couple of errands to run, he got into his battered car and drove off. Jim spent the rest of the day at his desk, catching up on paperwork and making phone calls. 

At four-thirty, Simon came out of his office, pulling on his trenchcoat. "Where's Tonto?" he asked distractedly as he passed Jim's desk. He missed the sour look Jim shot at him. 

"Had some errands," the detective replied shortly. "Where are you going?" 

With a long-suffering sigh, Simon replied, "Got to go to a meeting with the Commissioner." 

"Better you than me," Jim murmured, turning back to his computer. 

Shaking his head, Simon growled, "I hate it when Sandburg isn't here. You turn into such a surly bastard." 

Without looking up from his typing, Jim replied, "Consider me giving you the rude gesture of your choice, sir." 

Rolling his eyes, Simon left the bullpen. Within minutes of his departure, several other detectives left as well, among them Jim Ellison, who had decided he would get nothing more done that day. 

It was raining, for a change -- which was only marginally better than sleeting, which it had been doing off and on all week. Jim scowled out the window of his truck at the holiday traffic snarling up downtown Cascade and tried to refrain from drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in frustration. Doctors and the media were already calling for a nasty flu season, and with this weather, he reflected, it was a sure thing. The altercation at lunch came back to him and he sighed; he had intended to ask Simon about it but had forgotten. 

The rain was letting up as he pulled into a parking space opposite Colette's. Turning off the engine, he rested his head against the back of the cab for a moment, closing his eyes and nearly zoning on the soothing, muted drip of rain. From the loft he could hear the click of computer keys; Sandburg was home. That thought made him smile and he climbed out of the truck to hurry in to the warmth. The temperature was dropping steadily and the possibility of snow loomed large on the horizon. 

Blair looked up from his laptop as he came through the door. "Hey. You're home early." 

"Yeah, well, the teacher left us alone so we all snuck out, Beav," Jim answered, pulling off his coat and hanging it by the door. 

"Smooth, Wally," Blair answered, distracted by something on his computer. Jim walked up behind him, wrapped his arms around the younger man's neck and kissed his ear. 

"Missed you this afternoon," Jim said softly. "Simon said he hates it when you're not there because I turn into a surly bastard." 

"Then he's not very observant," Blair answered, tilting his head back to accept a gentle kiss. "As far as I can tell, you're _always_ a surly bastard." 

"Hey. I resemble that remark," Jim said, parroting Blair's earlier jibe and earning himself a grin and a smack on the shoulder. Reluctantly, Jim disengaged and moved to the steps of the loft. Once in their bedroom, he changed, noting as he put his dirty clothes in the hamper that it was quite full. Efficiently he emptied the hamper on the bed and sorted laundry, putting a full load of whites in a basket and carrying it downstairs with him. 

"I love a man who does laundry," Blair murmured as he passed on his way out the door down to the laundry room, and Jim flipped him off, grinning. By the time he returned, Blair had finished up what he was working on and was closing down his laptop. 

"You hungry?" Jim asked, moving into the kitchen. 

"Not very, not after that lunch. How about soup and salad?" 

"We got any of those whataya callems... rampy things left?" 

"Rampions, Jim, rampions, and yes, we do. And I picked up some fresh romaine at the store on the way home, as well as replenishing our stock of bread, milk and beer, the essentials of life. You do the soup and I'll make the salad. You want to warm up that French loaf?" 

"Naw. We can dip it into the soup. Chunky chicken noodle?" 

"The man with the plan," Blair said approvingly. He straightened up the papers strewn across the table and carried them and his laptop into the office, making room for dinner, then joined Jim in the kitchen to prepare the salad. 

In short order, the two men were slurping soup and crunching salad in companionable silence. Blair kept shooting Jim puzzled glances until Jim finally put his spoon down and leaned back in his chair. "Okay, spill it," he ordered. At the younger man's raised eyebrows, he elaborated, "You've been giving me that look again, so I know something's on your alleged mind." 

"'That look'?" Blair said, blinking in surprise. "You mean, I have a _look_? A look you've noticed?" 

Taking a sip of his milk, Jim gave his lover his best stoic glare. "Contrary to popular opinion, Junior," he said, "I am rather observant. And yes, you do have a look. So what's going on in that frightening head of yours?" 

Blair broke off a hunk of bread and used it to sop up the remains of his soup before answering. "I, uh, did some calling this afternoon." 

Knowing if he stayed silent his partner would eventually tell all, Jim grabbed the last of the bread to use in his own soup. After a pause, Blair did continue. "You remember when I went around and toured all the precincts? After Simon got me the official job as a consultant with the force?" At Jim's nod, he went on. "Well, turns out a friend, somebody I used to go out with, Lucy Hernandez, is, uh, well, she's stationed over at the Sixth. We stay in touch, still -- perfectly innocent, man, believe me." 

Realizing where this was going and ignoring a spike of jealousy, Jim picked up their empty bowls and took them to the sink. "I believe you, Sandburg, I do. So." He looked significantly at the younger man. "You called her looking for dirt on Ervin." 

"Uh, yeah," Blair said warily, cleaning off the table and bringing the rest of the dishes and utensils to the sink. "Are you mad?" 

Jim shrugged and shook his head. "Naw," he said, "as long as it doesn't come back to hurt the guy's wife. And _no_ , I'm not jealous." 'I'm _not_ ,' Jim repeated firmly to himself. 

"It shouldn't," Blair replied, putting the stopper in the sink and squirting soap under the running water. "But Lucy was pretty upset about the whole thing. She took the complaint." Jim made 'go-on' motions as he put the soup pot into the soapy water. "The initial report was for felonious assault and battery, and violation of a court protection order... they're separated," Blair explained, "and he apparently moved out a week ago. Lu was utterly pissed at the guy, and just went off when I asked her about it. She said higher-ups reduced the charge to a misdemeanor and put him on suspension for a day. One day. She doesn't think IA is even aware of the situation." 

"Well that explains why his gun and shield were missing," Jim growled, throwing a spoon into the sink with unnecessary force. "A day. I can't believe this, Sandburg! If the press gets a hold of this... this is just wrong. I don't care who the bastard is..." 

"Well, that may be part of the problem," Blair interrupted him. "He's the grandson or nephew or something of some wig over at the state government in Olympia. Lu thinks his superiors are reluctant to do anything drastic because of that." 

"He should be fired and thrown into prison." 

"From your mouth to God's ears, my brother," Blair sighed. "But I don't see it happening. Plus, Lu kinda... intimated there were other things there. I think she was trying to tell me the guy's a few tacos shy of a combination plate." 

"Shit." His jaw clenched, Jim turned and stalked out of the kitchen to stand by the balcony doors, staring out at the velvet darkness. 

Blair left him alone for a few minutes while he finished up with their few dishes. Leaving them to air dry, he pulled a couple of beers out of the fridge, opened them, and went to stand next to his partner, offering him one of the cold bottles. With a grunt, Jim took it and with one long swallow drained half. After a few moments, he tentatively reached out his arm and Blair immediately nestled up next to him. 

"Sorry." 

"Nothing to be sorry for, man." 

The two men stood arm-in-arm before the window and watched the watery lights brighten out on the bay. Not for the first time Blair wondered just exactly what Jim was seeing. After another pull on his beer, Jim began talking softly. "It's just... this is just _not_ what I wanted or expected when I joined the force, you know?" 

Knowing when to keep silent, Blair did so. "After all the crap I went through with Special Ops, the Rangers... I wanted to make a difference. To go someplace where I could help protect people instead of kill them \-- or worse yet, stand by and watch them be killed. But it's just the same on the force as it is in the army. All politics and brown-nosing; it's not what you know but who you blow. I guess that's why I haven't pushed very hard to make Captain. I don't envy Simon his position." 

Quirking a smile at that, Blair took another sip of his brew. "Yeah, well, we talk about the thin blue line... I think 'blue wall' actually sums it up better. I know we've been actively avoiding it, but you know, this is kind of the same thing we're going to have to deal with if we come out at the station," Blair said. 

Nodding and grimacing, Jim took another swig of his beer. After a few moments, Blair added, "And... more to the point, I think there's more to it than that with you. You were pretty upset earlier today." When Jim didn't speak again, he elbowed the bigger man gently in the ribs. "C'mon. You know you'll feel better." 

Jim looked down at his partner and smiled ruefully. "Why do I put up with you?" he asked humorously. 

"Because I give great blow jobs and I'm an excellent cook," Blair answered impudently. 

"Well, the cooking part is -- Hey! I need that arm, you know," Jim complained, rubbing the arm that had gotten punched. Smiling and relaxing a bit, he drained his beer and turned himself and Blair away from the window towards the sofa. "Let's sit down. I don't know about you but I'm whipped." 

"Not yet, but maybe soon," Blair grinned, and took the answering swat with equanimity. They sat on the sofa and snuggled; Blair pulled Jim around until his head and shoulders were mostly resting on a pillow in the younger man's lap. Jim relaxed with a sigh and closed his eyes. 

They sat like that for some while, listening to the rain turn to sleet on the windows and the skylights, enjoying the peacefulness. Finally, when Blair had begun to think Jim had drifted off, he started to speak. 

"The worst thing about reconciling with Dad is all the bad memories that come up, you know?" Jim said softly, not opening his eyes. "I know it's not good to repress, well, you tell me that anyway, but there are things I'd rather not remember. 

"Our neighbors to the left were the Goodalls when I was growing up. They moved away when, oh, I don't know, I must have been about fourteen or fifteen. After everyone in the neighborhood had figured out what I had known for years. He beat the shit out of her, Chief, at least once a month. Their daughter, Eddie -- Edwina -- was a few years older than me, and I remember seeing her drive her mom home from the hospital once she got her driver's license." 

Breathing deeply to calm the anguish he was feeling, Blair ran his fingers through Jim's soft, thinning hair and made an encouraging noise to get him to continue, which he did. "The first time I heard it, it scared me to death. I have no idea how old I was -- except that I was in school \-- and I thought someone had, oh, I don't know, broken into their house and was killing them. When I saw Eddie at the bus stop the next morning, I asked her -- in a kind of round-about way, you know -- if anything was wrong, and she just looked at me, her face so white... 

"That may have been the last straw... the catalyst after everything else that actually forced me to suppress all this Sentinel stuff, Blair. I -- I just couldn't listen to that and know I couldn't do anything about it. I mean, I couldn't tell Dad, he'd just tell me not to make up more stories... God!" 

Without a word, Blair gathered Jim into his arms and cradled his head against his chest, rocking gently. Jim wrapped his arms around his lover and held on tightly. They sat entwined for some time, taking and giving strength and comfort to each other, until Jim finally, reluctantly, pulled away. Surreptitiously wiping his eyes on his sleeve, he pushed himself upright. "I gotta go downstairs to put that load in the dryer, babe," he said, standing and smiling down at Blair. "Then maybe we should just make it an early night. Nothing on the tube anyway." 

Smiling in return, Blair said, "Sounds good to me, man. I could use some serious cuddle time. I'll take care of the laundry and let you get first crack at the bathroom." 

Though it was much earlier than their usual bedtime, the two men went about their evening routine, brushing teeth and locking up, until they ended up in their bedroom. Jim pulled Blair down to him on the bed and locked him into a comprehensive embrace, snuffling the sweet-smelling hair. "Jim?" Blair's muffled voice came from somewhere around his chest. 

"Yeah, Chief?" 

"I think we ought to ask Simon for advice on this," Blair said. "We were witnesses to some of it, after all. What do you think?" 

Blinking in the dim light from the bedside lamp, Jim thought about it for a while. Then, finally, he said, "Yeah. I will. Tomorrow." 

"Good." 

"You know, I'm not really all that tired yet." 

Blair tilted his head up and grinned. "Me neither." 

"Perhaps we could devise a plan to be not-tired together then." 

"You've always been an excellent tactician, Captain Ellison." 

"Prepare to be boarded, Mr. Sandburg," Jim murmured, muffling chuckles and turning them into moans with judicious use of his mouth. 

* * *

Late morning the next day, Jim knocked on Simon's door and poked his head through. "Simon? You got a minute?" he asked diffidently. 

His captain waved him in. "Yeah, yeah, come in, what's up?" 

"Ah... nothing... just wondered if you'd maybe like to go to lunch?" 

Simon blinked at him. "Go to lunch? With you?" 

Rolling his eyes, Jim said, "No, with Miss America. Yes, with me. You want to or not?" 

Nonplused, Simon waved to the mounds of paper covering his desk. "Unusual as this invitation is, I can't. I was just gonna grab a sandwich from the machine." 

"Well, Sandburg has a meeting on campus, but he's coming in at noon. I could call him and ask him to bring in sandwiches for all of us. He took me to this fantastic deli yesterday..." 

Eyes closing in exasperation, Simon interrupted, "That's enough, Detective. Give. What's wrong?" 

Shaking his head and shrugging innocently, Jim replied, "Nothing... nothing's wrong. I just, well..." he trailed off helplessly. 

"Jim," Simon said in his very best I'm-being-patient-with-you-at-the-moment-but-don't-push-it voice, " _what is wrong_? Is everything all right with, um, the Sentinel thing? You and Sandburg... uh, having problems with it?" 

"Yeah.. no... Simon, that's not it... aw, shit. Look. I need to ask you, to talk to you, as a friend. Not as a captain. I need some advice. Okay?" 

Leaning back in his chair and grinning at his best detective's discomfiture, Simon said, "Then why didn't you just ask? A new deli, huh?" 

Giving up and smiling his defeat, Jim said, "Well, not _new_ , but an excellent deli." 

"Tell the kid I'll have ham and swiss on either sourdough or wheat with mustard. Hot mustard if they've got it. And a pickle. What?" 

Jim's eyebrows were nearly to his receding hairline, and his arms were crossed. "It's an excellent _Jewish_ deli, Simon. You can't have ham and cheese. You can't have _ham_." 

Rolling his eyes, Simon shook his head. "Oh for... Roast beef meet with your approval?" 

"Yes, sir," Jim answered, backing out of the door. 

"And tell Sandburg he's paying!" Simon yelled before the door closed. 

* * *

Blair bought four pickles this time, and managed to keep one and a half to himself, but not until after a battle with Jim, who had opted for corned beef on sourdough. Both Simon and Jim were disgusted by Blair's liverwurst on onion bread, but the young man seemed happy enough with it. Simon grunted his approval as he inhaled his sandwich. 

"You going to the World of Wheels this weekend?" Simon asked Jim, blotting mustard off his chin with a paper napkin. 

"Hope so," Jim mumbled from around a mouthful of corned beef. "If Karl Marx here will go with me. And if I get a break in the Glasser case today." 

This time, Simon's grunt denoted extreme skepticism. Jim frowned at him. "The guy's cooking the books, Simon! I know he is, I know he's laundering money for half the goons in Cascade, Seattle and Tacoma, I've just got to prove it." 

"Good luck. The man's more slippery than trout. I'd wager that's _not_ what you wanted to talk about, however." 

"Uh, no," Jim replied, giving Blair a look. "But I've -- I mean, we've \-- got to talk to Simon, not Captain Banks." 

"Well, Simon is feeling pretty good after that sandwich, so talk away," the big man said, leaning back in his chair. 

Swallowing the rest of his sandwich with a swig of soda, Jim kept his eyes on the table as he spoke. "Yesterday at lunch, Sandburg took me to that deli, we... uh... we kinda witnessed a... well, I guess you'd say a domestic. In front of the deli. Guy was assaulting his wife; she was pretty badly beaten up and it looked like he was planning on finishing the job before we interrupted. He was a cop, Simon. Uniform out of the Sixth." 

Simon grimaced and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "Shit," he muttered. Rising, he waved his hands to Jim to go on. He went to his desk, grabbed a cigar from his case, and sat back down. 

"Anyway. We helped her out, let both of them know we were around and that I outranked him. So Sandburg knows somebody over at the Sixth..." 

"Lucy Hernandez, she's a sergeant," Blair broke in, and Simon nodded, waving his hand to signify a vague memory the name. 

"Yeah. Well, she had taken this lady's report that morning. She told Sandburg that the guy had violated a court order and his wife had sworn out a complaint against him for assault and battery. But the brass let him off, one-day suspension, and reduced the charge to a misdemeanor. Simon, that's just not right." 

"No, it's not," Simon said wearily, rolling his cigar between his fingers. "But it's nothing I haven't seen before." He looked significantly at Blair, who nodded somberly. "What do you want me to do, Jim? I can make some inquiries, ask around unofficially, but it's really out of my hands. I don't work at the Sixth, and, well, I can't say I'm unhappy about that. Captain Williams is a political appointee." 

Jim suddenly slapped the table hard with his hand, making the other two men jump. "Goddammit," he muttered, "this is what I was talking about, Chief. Goddamn politics." 

"What were you expecting, Ellison?" Simon asked, confused. "It's like that wherever you go. Look. I'll look into it, quietly, and let you know. But that's about all I can do." He looked as his best team -- Ellison glaring thunderously at the table, Sandburg staring sympathetically at him -- and continued slowly. "Of course, if the woman were to turn to friends for help, I'd have to encourage those friends to help however they can. On their own time, of course." 

Blair's head swiveled and his eyes gleamed as he stared at Simon. "Purely on a non-official basis, right?" he asked, in a suspiciously off-hand manner. 

"Yeah, right," Simon agreed, pleased with the direction the conversation was taking. "Like I said... as friends. You know." 

Jim's head slowly came up, his eyes narrowing. "But I don't suppose it would be, uh, kosher--" he shot Blair a look that was almost a smile \-- "for her friends to, uh, offer that help." 

Sighing, Simon agreed. "No, probably not. Especially when said friends have a crooked accountant to nail." He looked pointedly at his watch and the door to his office, indicating that 'friend Simon' was about to give way to 'Captain Banks' again. "But privately, I hope she does. Now get out of here and nail Glasser for me." 

"Yessir," the two men chimed together, rising from their lunch with lighter hearts. 

* * *

By Friday afternoon, the plodding, backbreaking and eyestraining portion of police work -- in other words, the stuff that happens every day -- had finally paid off and Jim had enough probable cause to get a warrant to search Glasser's office. Even so, without Jim's special abilities, they would have missed the safe that was built cleverly into the bottom of a faux-antique sideboard. Glasser, who had been supremely confident up until the point when Jim had asked him to open the safe, tried to make a break for it but didn't get far. One very satisfied consultant to the police force sat heavily on him (after tripping and tackling him) until he gasped out the combination -- while said consultant's partner tried to keep from laughing and insincerely urged him to get up and off the suspect. 

The two men were in good spirits as they worked their way through the requisite paperwork back at the station. With Glasser behind bars (until his lawyers got him out on bail) and the weekend coming up with nothing huge looming on the horizon but relaxation, things looked fine. 

Sending a report to the printer for his partner's signature, Blair leaned back in his chair and stretched. Across from him, Jim finished up the last of the requisite forms and ignored the eraser that bounced off his forehead. "What do you want for dinner, man?" Blair asked him, popping several vertebrae in his back. 

"Your turn to cook, Chief," Jim answered shortly. 

"What say we just have pizza delivered?" Blair said, standing and retrieving the report. 

Grimacing, Jim signed the last form and tossed his pen down. "Nah, I'd rather not, since tomorrow we'll probably have junk food, sandwiches and pizza and stuff for dinner at _the auto show_ ," he drawled, smirking at his partner who instantly sagged. 

"Oh, lordy..." Blair moaned theatrically, shoving the freshly printed report at Jim. His muttered diatribe about Sentinels and elephants was cut short by his cell phone ringing. 

"Yeah, yeah, hello," he answered the phone, still glaring at his partner. The glare faded quickly though, and he settled heavily back into his chair. "Yes, yes, I remember, hello Mrs. Ervin... oh, okay, Tina... what? No! Not a problem... are you all right? What's happening?" 

A glance from Blair and Jim extended his hearing to listen in. The woman sounded calm on the surface, but Jim could pick up her accelerated heart rate and the underlying fear in her voice. "...so sorry, I didn't know where to turn, and you did say call if..." she was saying to Blair, who reassured her. 

"It's all right, it's fine, we're glad to help, but what's going on?" the young man asked. 

"It... it's Rich. My husband. He's... he made some threats. Said he... said he's going to come home to settle things. I... I know he's working tonight. But he's, well, I'm afraid, Mr. Sandburg. My little boy..." 

"It's Blair, please, and is there anywhere you can go? When do you think he'd be by?" Blair looked at Jim for guidance but the bigger man just spread his hands helplessly. 

"Nowhere. I have nowhere to go, he's got the car anyway, and I've got no money. And the police... they just said there has to be a crime committed. I've... I've already tried a restraining order. He just... Oh God. He'd find me at a hotel, and I don't have any cash... I don't know what to do!" Both Blair and Jim could tell she had started to cry. 

Jim stood and walked over to Blair's chair, squatting down beside it. Blair put his hand over the mouthpiece and looked down at his lover in despair. "Tell her," Jim murmured, just loud enough for Blair to hear, "that she can come stay with us." 

Eyes widening, Blair whispered back, "Are you sure?" 

"Yeah," Jim answered. "We can come by and pick her and her kid up. They can stay in your old room." 

Blair's eyes showed his doubt, even as he smiled his pride at Jim. "Jim, be sure on this, okay?" he whispered, looking around the mostly empty bullpen. "She'll, uh, she'll be seeing things, you know? I mean, Naomi knowing is one thing..." 

"I know, Chief," Jim replied, also in a whisper. "I'll take the chance, though -- she needs help." 

Nodding, he took his hand away from the mouthpiece. "Listen, Tina. Jim just suggested you and your son come stay with us tonight. To be safe. Then we can figure out what to do tomorrow. But at least you'll be safe tonight." 

"Oh..." she gasped, obviously trying to think. "I... I couldn't. I'd put you out... I don't... you don't even know me..." 

"Yeah, well, it's not like you'll be in danger, Jim's a cop, an ex-Army Ranger, I'm a Ph.D. candidate at the University where I teach -- used to teach -- we've got the room, please. Let us help you." Blair put every ounce of persuasion into his voice that he could, holding his breath as he waited for her answer. 

After a few moments of silence, she said, softly, "I'm so frightened. Not for me... for Richie. I..." There was a sound that Jim interpreted as her wiping her eyes on a tissue, then her voice came back strongly. "All right. If you're sure." 

Jim nodded and smiled, passing Blair a pad of paper and a pen. "We're sure," Blair said decisively. "Give me your address, we'll pick you up... in an hour?" Blair raised his eyebrows to Jim, who nodded. 

Writing quickly, Blair took the address and directions, then once again soothed the distraught woman. "Pack light. How old is your little boy?" 

"He's just four," she answered softly. In the background Jim could hear cartoons on the TV. "You're _sure_..." 

"We're sure," Blair said, smiling. "We'll see you in about an hour." 

* * *

Tina Ervin and her son were waiting for them when they arrived by truck and car an hour later. Richie Ervin turned out to be a solemn, dark-haired, sturdy little boy who hid behind his mother until Blair enticed him out with question after question. Mrs. Ervin was effusive -- if nervous \-- in her thanks to the men, and Jim reassured her, his clenching jaw showing the rage bubbling up in him at the sight of her vividly colored face. Blair installed the little boy's carseat in the Volvo, and Jim took their bags, then they caravaned back to the loft, Jim on the alert for anybody trailing them. 

Blair got his way that evening and dinner was delivered pizza, to young Master Ervin's delight. Blair entertained Richie after dinner, making him laugh with stories of his travels while Jim put the boy's mother at ease about the sleeping arrangements. The office, once Blair's room, was straightened somewhat and clean sheets put on the futon. Richie would sleep in Blair's sleeping bag and foam mattress on the floor next to the bed. If Mrs. Ervin had any comment about where Jim and Blair would be sleeping, she kept it to herself, causing Jim to regard her with increased respect. 

By half-past ten, Richie was finally settled in the sleeping bag and his mother was also ready to retire, reluctant to leave her child alone in unfamiliar surroundings. It was obvious the last few days had taken their toll on her -- she wouldn't talk about it much, except to say that she feared for her life. "I -- I don't think he's quite sane any more," she murmured at one point to Blair over a cup of hot tea. "He's definitely not the man I married. And I have no clue what to do about it." 

"He hasn't hurt Richie, has he?" Blair asked quietly, his face twisted with concern. 

"No, no, but... I can't take the chance," she whispered, swallowing heavily. 

By the time Jim finished securing his home, taking extra precautions in light of the visitors sleeping within it, Blair was in bed, contemplating the clouds through the skylight. He turned his head to watch as his lover removed his robe and slippers before sliding under the sheets. The two men took up identical positions: on their backs, their hands under their heads, staring out the window contemplatively. 

As usual, it was Blair that broke the silence. "You amaze me sometimes, Jim," he said softly, mindful of their guests below them. 

One part of Jim's mouth quirked up in a half-smile. "How's that, Chief?" he asked, equally quiet. 

Blair waved his hand in a gesture meant to encompass the whole loft. "All this. Not knowing that lady from Adam yet giving her and her son a safe place to stay. Knowing that she could spill the beans on us and just not caring. Too many people want to help but never can or know how. You just do, man." 

Shrugging, Jim replied, "I guess it's my way to make it up to Mrs. Goodall. The way I couldn't all those years ago." 

Jim could see Blair smiling in the dark as the younger man turned to his side and propped his head up on his hand. "Doesn't matter why, Jim. You just _do_." 

Pulling one hand out from under his head, Jim dragged his finger in a line down the side of Blair's face. "Maybe I was just being selfish, then," he said, his voice suspiciously thick. "Maybe I was just hoping to get lucky with my wonderful lover." 

If anything, Blair's grin got wider. "I could arrange that," he said, "considering how lucky I've been every damn day of my life since I found you." 

"You're such a romantic, Chief," Jim said, still smiling gently. 

"Yep, that's me, soppy, romantic, and..." He reached behind himself to the bedside table and came back holding lube and a condom, "...practical too." 

Without a word, Jim took the condom from his partner, then slowly pushed Blair's boxers off his hips, easing them down over a growing erection. Opening the package, he gently smoothed the rubber over Blair's penis, hearing the hiss of pleasure coming from his lover as he did so. Looking back into deep blue eyes, Jim smiled and kissed Blair, then pushed his own boxers off and rolled over, presenting his back and grinning at the muffled groan of lust he heard as he shifted in bed. 

Not wasting time, Blair thickly coated his erection with lube, then spooned up to the broad, warm back, wrapping his strong arms as far as they would go around Jim and holding on tight. A bit of maneuvering and he was at the entrance to Jim's body, pressing in firmly but slowly while the bigger man relaxed and allowed himself to get lost in the fiery pleasure of being entered. Jim closed his eyes and moaned softly as he felt himself be impaled, fighting to delay his orgasm. 

Blair's tiny, careful thrusts, as Jim's body loosened to accommodate him, threatened to overwhelm him as well, but he managed to hold off as he slowly, gently seated himself deeply into Jim. Long, sensuous, uncounted minutes later, Blair was balls deep, panting softly and holding Jim tightly. 

"God..." he whispered. "Every time..." 

"It's like the first time..." Jim murmured. "Stay like this... for a few minutes..." 

"Yeah, oh damn, good, Jim it's good..." 

"Love you, Blair... love you so much..." 

"Love you too Jim... gotta move... oh..." Blair began to gently pull out and thrust back, languorous movements designed to hold off the inevitable for as long as possible. One hand, still slippery with lube, found its way to Jim's rigid cock, slowly pumping and fondling it. 

The two men floated on a sensual cloud, both nearly zoning on the intense pleasure of their joining, until Blair felt the familiar tightening, the tension in his body ratcheting up, the feeling increasing and growing, and he began seriously pumping his hips and his hand. "Gonna come, babe," he gasped, burying his face in Jim's broad back. "Yeah... oh, yeah... coming..." 

Jim didn't reply, but tilted his hips back a little more to encourage Blair to rub over his prostate. The jolt of delight he felt nearly made his eyes roll back in his head, and an extra squeeze on his penis brought him to a breathless orgasm. Behind him, Blair froze, grunting as he climaxed deep inside, then melted into the mattress and rubbed his sweaty forehead against Jim's back. 

Before he fell asleep, Blair managed to remove the used condom and throw it away. Jim did a cursory cleaning of himself and the bed with tissue, then rolled over and pulled the smaller man to him. Clasped tightly in each other's arms, they drifted into a deep sleep. 

* * *

The distant rumble of trash trucks woke Jim up early the next morning. Blair was, as usual, sprawled over two-thirds of the bed, his head buried in Jim's armpit, one leg thrown over Jim's thigh, and Jim smiled in peaceful joy. He debated staying in bed and trying to drift off to sleep again, but the knowledge that they had guests -- and his bladder -- conspired against him. 

With practiced ease he disentangled himself from his lover, kissed him gently, and sat up. He found his boxers and slid them on, stood, stretched towards the ceiling and scratched himself. As he pulled on his robe, he found himself grinning like an idiot, feeling good, feeling loved. With one last, fond look at the man still buried in the covers, he padded downstairs. 

After a stop in the kitchen to start the coffee maker, he paid the bathroom a visit. Coming back into the kitchen, he pulled out a mug and began rummaging through the cabinets, trying to decide what to do for breakfast. The door to Blair's old room opening alerted him to another presence. 

Richie Ervin wore footie pajamas and clutched a large, ragged stuffed frog tightly under one arm as he stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes and examining Jim shyly. He had taken the whole situation with remarkable equanimity, but Jim had heard his heart pound the night before, and could still sense the undefined anxiety in him. He was just too young to really understand what was going on, other than the fact that his mother was unhappy. Kneeling down, Jim smiled and beckoned the child closer. "G'morning, Richie. Would you like some orange juice?" he asked. 

Nodding, Richie watched as Jim pulled down a cup and poured. On impulse, he set the half-full glass on the counter and boosted Richie up to sit there next to the sink. The boy giggled softly and eagerly accepted his juice, lightly thumping his feet against the cabinets as he drank, continuing his study of the big man. He wrinkled up his nose slightly as Jim reached past him for the coffee, and said, "You smell funny." 

Jim barked with laughter and his ears turned pink. "Yeah, kid, I suppose I do. Let's see, what would be good for breakfast? Eggs?" Jim leaned against the island, took a sip of his coffee and smiled as the little boy made a face and shook his head. "Okay, no eggs. How about pancakes?" That didn't seem to go over well either, and Jim looked at the ceiling for a moment while he made a show of thinking. "Waffles?" 

"Yeah!" Richie said, a shy smile lighting his features. "I like awfuls!" 

"Waffles it is, then," Jim grinned, pulling the waffle iron out of the cabinet. "Do you want to help me make 'em?" 

"'K," he replied, sipping his juice. 

By the time Blair managed to drag himself out of bed and downstairs, sniffing the irresistible aromas of coffee and waffles, he found himself confronted with two children, one little and one big, liberally splashed with batter and laughing uproariously. Remarkably, batter had not gotten anywhere but on the waffle iron, the counter and the two cooks. Tina Ervin sat at the table with her own cup of coffee, smiling at the antics going on in the kitchen. Her face looked much less swollen that morning; a good night's sleep feeling safe had done wonders for her. 

Pouring himself his morning transfusion, Blair sat at the table across from the woman. "Looks like we'll have to hose them down," he said to her, grinning. She laughed in reply. 

"You're a laugh a minute, Shecky," Jim said with mock dignity, setting a plate with a steaming, perfect waffle before the younger man. "Keep it up... you'll need all of your humor to clean the kitchen while Richie and I take showers." 

"Oh, man!" Blair whined, mugging for the little boy who came to stand with his mother. "You made the mess! Why do I have to clean it up?" Richie giggled from his place next to his mother -- who was holding him at arm's length. 

"I cook, you clean," Jim shrugged, watching Blair dig into his golden waffle. "And since we're going to the _auto show_ today..." 

"I'll help you, Blair," Tina Ervin said softly, at the same time her son stage-whispered to her, "Mom! The auto show!" She rolled her eyes at him and continued, "Not now, Richie." 

"Oh-ho," Jim chortled, rubbing his hands together. "We have another auto fanatic in our midst. Do you want to go to the World of Wheels Auto Show, Richie?" 

"Don't get him started!" his mother laughed, taking the damp paper towel Jim offered her and wiping her son's batter- and syrup-covered face. "That's all I've heard about for the last two weeks." 

"Please, mom?" the little boy begged. 

Jim exchanged an amused glance with Blair, who said, "We really need to get you and your mom someplace --" Blair caught himself, and hastily censored what he was about to say -- "I mean, settled somewhere else, first, Richie. But if we can do that, well, you're welcome to come with us. Maybe your mom and I could just sit down and wait while you two children have fun." He shot a mock-glare to Jim who threw up his hands in defense. 

"Oh... I wouldn't want to put you out any more," Mrs. Ervin said, biting her lip. "You've already done so much." 

"You're _not_ putting us out," Jim said firmly. "And it's no more than what anyone would do. Why don't you get Richie cleaned up and dressed, then I can get my shower and change. Have you thought about any place you could stay, long term?" 

Despite his earlier words, Jim helped Blair clean up the mess in the kitchen while the two men talked over the situation. Blair had a couple of contacts at the University who he thought would help shelter the two temporarily, and he made some phone calls while Jim ducked into the bathroom to clean up. 

When Jim emerged from the bathroom, he went upstairs to dress, keeping half an ear on his guests. Blair was making their bed. "I called My Sister's House," he said, plumping the pillows, "and they have an opening. I'm not sure Richie wants to go," Blair added, his voice muted. 

As Jim dressed, he listened in. Richie was helping his mother straighten up the office and re-pack. "But Mom... I wanna go home," he whined. 

"I know love," Jim heard Tina Ervin respond sadly. "I do too. But we can't... not just now. Soon." 

"When?" Sniffles now, and Jim grimaced in sympathy. 

"I don't... I don't know, honey. Soon," she added, her voice struggling for a lightness she obviously didn't feel. "It'll be our adventure. Just you and me. Okay?" 

"'K," Richie said reluctantly, and Jim heard him pulled into an embrace. 

Jim came back to himself to see Blair sitting cross-legged before him on the bed, studying him intently. "Are they okay?" he asked. 

His lover nodded, grimacing. "It's not going to be easy. Poor kid." 

"Yeah." Blair watched as Jim tucked a .38 into an ankle holster, out of the way, and winced at the necessity. "You know," he said slowly, "there are times... well, seeing what you went through, what Naomi went through with Grandfather Joseph, and now what Richie's going through..." He trailed off, picking at the bedspread, not meeting Jim's eyes. 

Jim cupped his chin in one big hand. "I know," he murmured. "Every situation is different, Blair. Not all fathers are like mine, or like Ervin," he added. 

Meeting his lover's eyes, Blair smiled sadly. " _You_ wouldn't be," he agreed softly. "Do you..." 

"Not now, Chief," Jim interrupted, kissing him gently. "We've got other fish to fry. And no, I don't. Come on, let's go." 

* * *

Tina Ervin gave Jim the keys to her apartment, then she and her son got back into the battered Volvo with Blair. On the way, he explained the mechanics of My Sister's House, a loosely knit network of men and women who offered their own homes to battered women and children on a temporary basis. As it happened, he knew the family -- the Osters -- who had offered haven for the Ervin family; Yvonne Oster taught at Rainier. 

They also happened to have a little girl about Richie's age, and two big, slobbery, exceedingly friendly dogs of uncertain parentage, which simply put the young boy into heaven. Yvonne welcomed the little family with open arms, refrained from even acknowledging Tina's battered face, and showed her to the bedroom in the finished basement. "You'll have your own bath down here, and the bedroom has twin beds. We have a roll-away crib, but it looks like your little guy won't need it?" 

Overwhelmed, Tina blinked. "No, he won't. This is wonderful. What can I possibly do..." 

Waving her hand in negation, the other woman smiled. "Don't worry about it, it's SOP." As the two women talked, Blair's cell phone rang. He stepped away to answer it, figuring -- correctly -- that it was Jim. 

"All clear over here, Chief," Jim reported from the Ervin apartment, "but he's been here. The place is a wreck. Looks like Tina was right to be concerned." 

Blair winced. "I'm going to see if we can leave Richie here, then I can bring Tina over to get her stuff. Does that sound good to you?" 

"Uh-huh," Jim replied, clearly distracted by something. There were background noises that Blair puzzled over for a moment, before realizing with a grin that his lover was straightening up the Ervin apartment as he talked. "I'll look for you in a few then." 

"Okay." Shutting off his phone, he turned to work out the details with the two women. 

* * *

Just after noon, everything was set. Tina Ervin was settled at the Osters' house, and Richie was enjoying a PB&J with Becca Oster and surreptitiously feeding scraps to the dogs -- who had taken up residence at his feet. With a child's typical short-term memory, he had been fine staying at the Osters' while his mother left with Blair to get enough clothing and supplies for a week's stay. 

While helping Tina pack at her apartment, Jim persuaded her to come with the two men to the auto show, bringing Richie so that the child would have some pleasant memories of the day. Even Blair joined in, making wry comments about relative ages of children in the household and trying to get the young woman to smile. She finally agreed, tiredly, once Blair assured her that he would stay with her out of the main exhibition floor and let Jim chauffeur Richie around to their heart's content. 

"You've already done so much," she whispered, looking around the wreck of her apartment, near tears. "If it weren't for you..." 

Blair put his hand on her shoulder, patting it gently. "For today, forget. Or try to. My grandmother Anna would say, blessings you have." 

"You do, too," Jim chimed in, unsure what to say, but wanting to reassure her somehow. "Richie's a great kid. You've done a good job with him." 

So that afternoon the four of them piled into the Volvo and made their way across town to the convention center. It was hard to tell who was more excited, Jim or Richie -- and both Blair and Tina laughed to watch and listen to them. The crowds were intense, giving Jim what looked like an instant headache until Blair put his hand soothingly on the big man's back. After a moment, they smiled at each other, and Jim swept Richie up to his shoulders before braving the hordes. Blair and Tina split off from them and headed for the upper level and the food court. 

The Cascade Convention Center was often called 'Finneran's Folly' -- after the council member who had pushed to get it built. It was an enormous building, so large that it could, and did, host an entire circus. However, because of its sheer size, it often stood empty, a testimony to the efficacy of rampant consumerism and lobbyists. The World of Wheels Auto Show actually rattled within its cavernous interior. 

Food vendors lined the balcony which formed a large U-shape around the showroom floor. Blair bought sodas and a big, soft pretzel for the two of them to nibble on, then he sat with Tina at a table overlooking hundreds of vehicles. He pointed out a long section of trucked-in sod, obviously set up for 'the world's fastest lawnmower,' and they shared an incredulous look. Jim wasn't easy to spot in the crowd, but here the enormity of the building helped; there were many people, but it was large enough to allow for less crowding. After a few moments, Blair spotted Jim and Richie, and pointed them out to Tina. 

"Jeesh, we're going to need binoculars," Blair muttered, glad that the two had decided to stay near the lawnmower area, which was almost directly under the food court. 

"Looks like Richie's having fun," Tina said, her voice soft as usual. "You two have been so kind to us. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it." 

Grinning, Blair waved his hand. "A good kid like Richie makes it easy. A pretty lady like you helps too," he added, winking to show his flirting was innocent. 

Looking at her hands, Tina's smile faded. "Not so pretty right now, I guess. Not so smart either. You must think me..." 

Blair reached across the tiny, wobbly table to take one of her hands. "Hey, hey," he said gently. "None of that. You said it yourself, he's not the man you married." 

She shook her head, not looking up. "I..." she choked, then took a deep breath and visibly forced her eyes up to look at Blair. "I used to wonder, how a woman could stay with an abusive man, you know?" Blair nodded but didn't let go of her hand. "He didn't start any of this until last year. He was passed over for a promotion he thought he would get. Our rent went up, Richie was growing and needed clothes, and Rich just got quieter and quieter. When I told him I had applied for a part-time job as a waitress, he -- he just -- snapped. That's when it started." 

She took another deep breath and looked over the balcony rail to the crowds below. "I never would have... he's not a bad man. I would have never thought he could do that. Do this." 

Studying her face, Blair's eyes were sympathetic. "You can't tell, you know," he finally said. "I used to think you could... but you can't. I mean, look at me. I'm an anthropologist for pity's sake... I study people. Societies and people. How they fit together; how they work. I used to think I could tell if someone was good or bad or whatever." 

He smiled wryly. "Police work disabused me of that notion real quick, let me tell you. I've been working with Jim for, geeze, almost five years now. That was one of the first lessons I learned... you can't tell. Somebody could look positively angelic and turn out to be a serial killer, you know?" 

Tina snorted slightly, the corner of her mouth turning up. "No, really," Blair continued earnestly, warming to his topic. "There was this guy, filthy, smelly, looked like he had been living on the streets, you know? He had the _most_ foul mouth I've ever heard, and believe me, I've heard a few. He was a suspect in a murder, I was sure he was the one. Nope, turned out to be some well-dressed yuppie student-type that actually pulled the trigger." Shrugging, Blair smiled. "And the slobby guy was a software guru and a millionaire. Go figure." 

Shaking her head and genuinely smiling now, Tina studied the young man across from her. "You two are good together," she said, breaking off a bit of the pretzel. "You and Jim, I mean," she added. 

Looking down, Blair grinned crookedly. "Well, uh. Yeah. Thanks." When she chuckled at his blush, he gave her a rueful glance. "Y'see, this is kind of, well, new. We've only been a couple for a few months. And... and..." 

"And nobody knows, right?" she asked, her look perceptive and penetrating. 

"Yeah," he replied softly. 

"My cousin is gay," Tina said, once again looking down at the exhibition floor. "He's a good person. Like you two are," she added. After a few minutes, she asked, "How did an anthropologist end up working with the police force, Blair?" 

"Now, _that's_ a story and a half," Blair admitted, grateful for the change of subject. It was one the young man never tired of talking about, and it was a good way to get the woman's mind off her troubles -- and off Jim and Blair's relationship. Blair chatted and Tina listened, occasionally interjecting a chuckle or an incredulous comment, and the afternoon wore on. 

Blair was in the middle of a rather heavily-censored version of the events surrounding the golden incident and how Jim handled being effectively blind, when something caught his eye on the main floor. His voice trickled to a stop and he frowned. 

"What is it, Blair?" Tina asked, trying to follow his line of sight. Most of the attendees were gathering around the incongruous grassy area, as it was obvious a demonstration was about to start. But several groups and individuals remained roaming around, and one group in particular \-- back in a corner, behind several large vehicles, in a space that would have been invisible to most of the convention-goers -- had caught Blair's eye. 

"That can't be," he muttered, then stood and craned his neck to get a better look. "Goddamn. It is! Oh my God! Why me? Why here?" 

"Blair!" Tina said, becoming alarmed, "What is it?" 

Whipping around, Blair yanked out his cell phone and pressed some buttons. "Tina, I need you to stay right here. I'll be back with Richie. Don't leave, okay?" Before she could say anything, he was barking into the phone. "This is Blair Sandburg, consultant to Major Crime Division and partner to Detective Ellison. My twenty is the convention center, upper level, food court. I need all available units to respond; wanted fugitives Sammy Chin and Wen Ho have been spotted along with other suspects. Detective Ellison and I are responding." Blair was aware of Tina's shocked gaze on him as he fought his way to the stairs and started sliding down them as fast as he could. 

Barely hearing the "ten-four" from dispatch to his hasty report, Blair began calling to his partner, fervently hoping that Jim didn't have his hearing turned all the way down. "Jim? Jim? Buddy, you better be able to hear this, I need you, need you NOW! Sammy Chin and Wen Ho are here, man, and they got other members of their gang, I called it in, dispatch is sending units, but man, we gotta get Tina and Richie to safety! You hear me, Jim? Please say you hear me!" Ignoring the strange looks he got from the people he was racing around, Blair continued his monologue as he made his way towards the last place he had seen his partner. 

Jim heard him. Suddenly looming up in front of Blair, Richie still perched on his shoulders, Jim halted the younger man's headlong rush before they could collide. "Whoa, Chief... I heard you. Here, take Richie, you sure it's them? Where are they?" 

"Over by the Humvee, behind the trailers in the corner," Blair responded, breathlessly accepting the sturdy young boy. "Jim, you _can't_ go alone. You've got to wait for backup! Those two will eat you alive!" 

Sourly agreeing with Blair, Jim grimaced. "Yeah, yeah... c'mon, we'll wander that way and do a bit of eavesdropping, confirm it's them. No one will notice us with a kid, right, kid?" Jim reached out and tickled Richie's ribs, causing the boy to squirm and giggle in his new place on Blair's shoulders. "You called dispatch, right? Then backup should be here soon. Let me hear what I can, then you take Richie up to his mom." 

Not liking it much, but realizing that he needed to be with Jim to prevent the bigger man from hot-dogging again, Blair led them to the display of surplus army vehicles. One, a huge Humvee, had been modified for personal use, something that Blair found ludicrous. Under the guise of inspecting the vehicle, Blair let Jim listen in to the meeting taking place a few yards away. 

After a moment of stillness, Jim shook his head like a dog shaking off water and grinned wickedly at his partner. "It's them, all right, and we've got them nailed," he said quietly, pulling his gun from the ankle holster. "It's Ho, and Chin, and Wendell Burgess is there too with a couple of his cronies. Sounds like they're negotiating a merger, which is just not gonna happen now." Cocking his head, Jim's grin turned feral. "Backup's just pulled in. Take Richie. They'll be coming in the entrance by the steps. Tell them to meet me here." 

"Will do, but don't you _dare_ do anything until backup gets here, you hear me?" Blair's voice was low but adamant, and Jim's expression softened. 

"I won't." At Blair's narrow-eyed glare, he insisted. "I promise! I smell Simon's cigars. Go tell him where I am, okay Chief?" 

The oblivious crowd was mostly gathered by the lawnmower, waiting for the demonstration. Blair managed to skirt the area and nearly ran into Simon coming in with Joel and several uniforms. "Sandburg!" Simon bellowed. "What in the hell have you gotten into now?" 

"Simon! It's not my fault!" Blair protested. Pulling the bigger man aside, he quickly filled him in. "I've got to get Richie here up to his mom, then I'll come down and..." 

"No, you won't," Simon interrupted. "You'll stay up there and observe like a good little consultant. We've got more than enough firepower here to handle these bozos. Go on... you say Jim's over by that... what the hell? Is that a Humvee?" Muttering, Simon strode off, gesturing for the other police officers to follow him. 

"Mr. Blair? How come I can't see the cars any more?" Richie asked as Blair slowly climbed the steps, watching the police fan out. 

Reaching a landing, Blair indicated the spot they had been, pointing with his chin. "Just for a little bit longer, Richie. See those guys behind that big car?" 

"Yeah, those were the ones Jim and us was listening to?" 

"Yup. They're bad guys. And the good guys are gonna catch 'em and put 'em into jail. Sound good?" 

"Yeah! Can we watch?" 

"Sure can, pardner. But let's get you up to your mom first." 

Tina was beside herself with worry and seemed to almost collapse when she saw her son with Blair. Richie crawled up into her lap, chattering continuously about Jim, and cars, and Jim, and lawnmowers that supposedly go "faster'n a rocket ship, mom!" and Jim, and of course, bad guys who were going to end up in jail, thanks to Jim. Blair realized with a grin that the boy had developed a serious case of hero-worship on his partner. 

They had a prime seat for the fun, which went down without a hitch or a shot being fired, to Richie's dismay. Blair's call for 'all available units' meant there were enough police to completely surround the suspects, who wisely elected to surrender rather than fight their way out. The threesome sat at their table and watched as the half-dozen young men were approached, ordered to lie on the ground, and handcuffed. 

A sudden, horrific sound -- part explosion, part jet engine -- split the air, making everyone jump. The lawnmower had started up. Blair spared it one brief glance, realizing as he did that there was what looked like a JATO rocket unit attached to the damn thing, but a shout brought him back to the scene of the arrest. One of the young men had taken advantage of the earsplitting noise to leap to his feet and start running \-- right for the crowd around the mower. None of the policemen on the scene could fire, for fear of hitting a bystander, though nearly all had their weapons drawn and were shouting to the man to stop. Jim, of course, took off running after the fleeing perp. 

"Oh, no!" Blair groaned, knowing exactly what was going to happen. "Stay here!" he called to Tina, already on his way. "I've got to get to Jim!" 

The crowd had been oblivious of the police drama taking place in the corner, but the young man shoving his way through, followed closely by a large man wielding a gun and shouting for him to halt, brought the situation to their attention rather dramatically. The uniforms dispersed on the edges of the mass of people, directing and calming them and watching for the suspect. Shrieks and yells began to compete with the cacophony the mower was making. 

The running man, who Blair identified as Wen Ho, leapt over the barricade onto the strangely out-of-place grass and headed directly for the riding lawnmower. It was idling at about 180 decibels, a manufacturer's representatives sitting stunned on the seat, and Ho pushed him off to climb on. Jim had nearly reached him when he figured out how to release the brake and rocketed off, a comically stunned expression on his face as he realized how fast he was going. The crowd screamed; Ho screamed; Jim bellowed for him to halt; and over it all was the horrible noise of the modified jet engine, spewing flames and exhaust as it propelled the lawnmower in a weaving path across the grass, cutting a drunken swath. 

There was nothing directly ahead but a short barricade and a wall. Somehow, the panicked criminal managed to turn the mower around, gouging up the grass and slicing into the faux-marble floor beneath, and head back the way he had come. Unfortunately, at that moment, the large double doors of the service entrance opened to let another group of vehicles into the center. The doors were located directly beneath the food court balcony, and about ten feet past the other end of the long grassy area. Manufacturer reps, convention-goers, police and one frazzled observer leapt for safety as Ho tore across the showroom floor toward the exit. 

Blair was closest to the doors and could see the three surplus army tanks trying to get into the building. Jim threw a piece of the barricade at Ho, making him swerve, which meant he had to circle around again to get through the door. Blair ran for the lead tank while Jim ran for the Humvee. 

Pandemonium is a dull word for what followed. Jim somehow got the Humvee started and headed for the door. Ho circled around, creating small fires with the exhaust (which, in turn, started the sprinkler system) and tearing up barricades, lawn chairs and manufacturer's flyers, and giving at least one small dog a panic attack. Blair climbed aboard the lead tank and directed the enthusiastic driver to move to block the entrance, figuring the tank should easily outrank one lowly lawnmower -- even if the lawnmower was going sixty miles per hour. Meanwhile, Simon directed the officers remaining outside to bring their patrol cars around to the service entrance, and lights were flashing brightly behind the tanks. 

There might have been just enough space for Ho to get out between the edge of the door and the lumbering tank, except Jim managed to block it with the Humvee. Ho screamed something before throwing his arms in front of his face and plowing the modified lawnmower directly into the tank. Blair, several dozen soaked policemen, outraged exhibitors and members of a wildly clapping audience (sure that this was just a publicity stunt -- though the owner of the dog had some doubts) converged on the scene in time to see Jim pull a battered and bloody Wen Ho from the wreckage of the mower, cuff him, and hand him over to a uniformed cop. 

Jim turned to see Blair standing behind him, a goofy grin on his face. Then they both turned to see a sopping wet Simon, in a towering snit, and despite best efforts by both of them, they just cracked up. Simon closed his eyes and shook his head sadly. 

"Ellison," he said wearily, looking at the ruined remains of his cigar, "you may have just hit personal best. A Humvee?" 

Blair was laughing so hard he was bent over. Jim scrubbed his face with his hands, then shrugged at his captain. "What can I say? Army training. Use what you have at hand, sir." That just sent Blair into fresh gales. 

Simon glared at them. Behind him, the sprinkler system sputtered out, leaving acres of wet cars and muddy grass and furiously screaming exhibitors. "I just can't wait to read your report on this mess, gentlemen," he said finally, shoving the soggy, drooping cigar back into his mouth. "I'll expect it on my desk by tomorrow. Early." 

"Uh, Simon, tomorrow's..." Blair started, wiping his eyes. 

"So? You got a problem with that, Sandburg?" 

"No... he doesn't, Captain, sir," Jim interjected quickly, whapping Blair on the back of the head. "We've got to take care of the Ervins first, though, then we'll be in to get started." 

Simon had started to turn away, but that halted him. "The who? And who was that kid with you earlier, Sandburg?" 

"That was Richie Ervin," Blair explained, still bringing himself under control. "The, uh, friend we mentioned to you the other day, remember? I left him with his mother upstairs." 

Jim glanced up as Blair spoke, then blinked. "Where did you leave them, Chief?" he asked quietly. 

"Right up there... oh my God." The table was empty. 

"Simon," Jim said urgently, "can you find out if Richard Ervin was in one of the black and whites that responded? I've got a bad feeling about this." Blair was already heading for the steps at a dead run, and soon had Jim right behind him. 

There was no sign of either Tina or Richie. The table was fine, but one of the chairs had been knocked over, and there was no one around who might have seen what had happened. "Oh man... I don't believe this," Blair was muttering, pulling his hair back out of his eyes. "I shouldn't have left them, I shouldn't..." 

"Stop it, Chief. This wasn't your fault," Jim said firmly, looking around. "Think. They wouldn't have gone back down the stairs, there were too many people, too easy to get separated, or for Tina to get help." 

Deliberately slowing his breathing, Blair closed his eyes in thought. "Right, right. Okay. So they didn't go back down those stairs. What other exits are up here?" 

As Blair looked around wildly, Jim stood still and hunted with his senses. The cavernous building was awash in echoes and scents for him to filter out, and he frowned. Blair immediately recognized the look. "Do you think you can pick them up? Hear them, or smell them?" he asked, grounding Jim with a hand to his arm. 

"It's hard, Chief," Jim said, struggling to eliminate the extraneous. He closed his eyes, trusting Blair to keep him level, and concentrated. A woman's high-pitched shriek, cut off, and a boy's sobbing... there. "Over there... must be a closet or something. Come on." 

Jim had shoved his gun into the waistband of his pants during the excitement; now he pulled it out and led the way to a door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY beyond the food vendors' stalls, Blair right behind him. Easing the door open a crack, Jim frowned; it led, not to a closet as he had thought, but to a very large storeroom, jammed with shelves and foodstuffs. He could hear voices deep in the back of the room, and indicated to Blair that they should go in. 

They left the door open behind them, to signal where they had gone. The deeper into the room they went, the clearer the voices became... a woman, sobbing; a man, yelling in anger; a little boy, crying and pleading for his daddy to stop. Motioning for Blair to stay back, Jim threaded the maze of shelving, following the voices, until he rounded the very last corner. Before him stood Officer Ervin, towering over his wife who lay on the floor before him, blood dripping from a fresh gash in her cheek. 

"Freeze, Ervin," Jim snarled, bringing his gun to bear. "Hands where I can see them. You know the drill." 

What Jim hadn't seen was Richie, who was being held by his father in a brutal grip. As Jim spoke, Ervin initially froze, then abruptly turned and hurled the little boy at Jim, twisting aside as he did so. Jim grabbed for Richie, trying to shove him back to safety, and Ervin used that opportunity to strike out at Jim, sending his gun flying. 

Blair came around the last shelf to see a nightmare; Tina lying on the floor, Richie crouched next to her, both crying, and Jim locked in a struggle with Ervin. As he watched, Ervin managed to shove Jim back into one of the shelves, which collapsed on top of the big man, throwing him to the floor where he lay stunned. Taking an involuntary step forward, Blair's foot hit something on the floor... Jim's gun. Crouching, he picked it up and pointed it at Ervin, holding it steady on his target. 

"Forget about it, you bastard," he growled. "Just drop to the floor and put your hands behind your neck or I'll blow your head off." 

Breathing heavily and sweating, Ervin studied the young man crouched before him. "No, you won't," he said, reaching down to snap open his holster. "I remember you. You're one of those damn pacifists. You couldn't shoot me." 

"Don't tempt me, Ervin," Blair replied, his voice holding as steady as his aim. "Look over there; see what you've done? I'll gladly shoot scum like you to protect them. And don't think I won't." 

Ervin hesitated at the cold tone of Blair's words, his hand still on his holstered gun. Behind him, Jim began to pull himself up, shaking his head to clear it. Blair kept talking, delaying until Jim could take over. 

"He's your son, she's your wife, for God's sake, Ervin! How could you?" 

"You don't understand!" Ervin shouted. "It's not my fault! She makes me... she, she..." In the process of pulling himself up, Jim's hand slipped in something that had spilled when the shelves came down, and he hit the floor again with a grunt. 

Several things happened at once. Ervin whipped around, drawing his gun. Tina yelled and Richie screamed, and Blair fired. The uniformed man went down, a surprised look on his face, and Simon came barreling into the room, followed closely by Joel and several other policemen. 

Blair was frozen in place, his face white, his hands, still holding the gun tightly, trembling. Simon knelt next to him and gently covered his hands, prying his fingers from Jim's gun. Joel went to Jim to help him up, checking to see if he was all right. Jim was still stunned, and looked from Ervin, lying on the floor and being checked over by other officers, to Blair, who looked ready to pass out. "Chief?" he whispered. 

"Tell me he's not dead," Blair gasped. "Please, Jim, Simon, tell me..." 

Paramedics swarmed into the room just then, alerted by radio. Several of them converged on the bleeding officer, while another helped Tina and Richie. Simon helped Blair, and Joel supported Jim out of the room, giving the medics space to move. The two were pressed into chairs pulled over from the dining area; Jim scooted his chair over to Blair's, and wrapped one arm firmly around his partner's shoulders. No one said a word. 

It wasn't long before Tina and Richie emerged, escorted by paramedics, who confirmed they were headed for the hospital and a complete check-up. Blair looked up at Tina Ervin, his eyes filled with guilt and shame. "I'm... I'm sorry..." he choked out. 

Tina took his hand. "It's all right, Blair," she said softly. "You did the right thing. It's all right." Next to her, Richie climbed up into Jim's lap and wrapped his arms around the big man's neck, hugging tightly. Jim closed his eyes and hugged back. Then the paramedics urged them forward, and out to the ambulance. 

"We'll call the Osters, Chief," Jim said. "Let them know what happened." 

Blair nodded mutely, and the other three men exchanged worried glances over his head. A few minutes later, the other paramedic team emerged with a stretcher carrying Officer Ervin. Jim heard the sudden increase in Blair's heart rate, and wrapped his arm back around the younger man's shoulders, hugging him tightly. 

"How's he doing?" Simon asked the lead EMT brusquely. 

"Hanging in there," was the reply. "We've got to get him to the hospital, he'll need surgery and needs to get some blood, but I think he'll be okay." 

Upon hearing those words, Blair collapsed into Jim's side, panting for air. Jim looked up at Simon, his expression anguished. "Take him home, Jim," Simon murmured. "We'll need to see you tomorrow, but take him home now. You okay?" 

"Yeah, I'm all right," Jim answered, helping Blair to his feet. "We're both gonna be okay." 

* * *

The Ellison-Sandburg household was unusually subdued that night. Jim had called the Osters, who offered to pick up Tina and Richie at the hospital, to either take them back to their apartment or back to the Osters' house, whichever Tina wanted, and Jim had gladly accepted. Simon called, checking up on both of them,and letting them know that the IA hearing would be set for Monday afternoon. Considering Blair was a consultant, and had been shooting in self-defense, Simon didn't think it would be a difficult hearing. But he recommended both of them come into the station Sunday to get the paperwork cleared up beforehand. He also told Jim that Ervin came through surgery fine and was going to be all right. 

Joel had also called. He had seen Blair's face, and had been worried about the young man, concerned over what he had had to do. Jim reassured Joel, said he was taking care of it, then hung up and took Blair into the bathroom. 

They bathed together, scrunched into the tub, and Jim lovingly washed every inch of his Guide in an almost ritual cleansing. Bundling him into towels and robe, Jim sat him on the sofa and prepared a light dinner, which they ate to candlelight and soft music. Then the two of them snuggled before the TV and watched a game. 

Blair barely spoke once. 

By the time the Titans fumbled the game away to the Dolphins (a rotten end to a rotten season), Jim was becoming frightened. He turned off the TV and pulled Blair up, twisting the younger man so he could look at him fully. "Chief, I think we need to talk," he said softly. 

"Do we?" Blair asked, his voice devoid of inflection. 

"Blair!" Jim gave him a little shake, then tipped his head up. "Look at me. Tell me what's going on in that head of yours. Please?" 

Slowly, Blair's eyes lifted until they met those of his lover and best friend. Jim's heart wrenched to see the pain displayed in the blue depths. But when he spoke, the words were not what Jim had been expecting. 

"Jim?" 

"Yeah, babe?" 

"How many people have you shot?" 

Jim took a deep breath. "I don't know, Chief. Dozens. Maybe hundreds, if you count the Army." 

"How... how many of them died?" 

His shoulders slumping, Jim shook his head. "I don't have any idea." 

"How do you _stand_ it?" 

Blair's voice was so anguished; Jim's face contorted in reflected pain for his friend. "Blair, I can tell you how I handle it, but... but that won't help _you_. You're not me," _thank God_ , Jim added mentally, "and you'll have to learn how to deal with it in your own way." 

After a moment, Blair clambered out of Jim's embrace to his feet, pacing slowly to the balcony windows. Jim let him go, recognizing Blair's need to think, and realizing that the gates had been opened now. Sure enough, after a few minutes, Blair began speaking again, softly. 

"All this time," he said, "working with you, being your back-up... I was afraid that someday this would happen. That I'd have to actually fire a gun, hurt someone with it, to protect you or someone else." He shook his head sadly. "My fists, a bat or a ball, even a vending machine... that's all one thing, but a gun... I tried not to think about it, but I knew the possibility was there." 

Turning, Blair surprised Jim by the fierce expression on his face. "I'd do it again, you know," he stated flatly. "That bastard was going to hurt you, had already hurt Tina and Richie. I don't regret the fact that I shot him." 

Jim stood and joined Blair at the windows, enfolding the smaller man in his arms. "I don't either," he murmured. "You did the right thing. Never doubt that. I just wish..." 

Blair nodded, his head pressed into Jim's chest. "Yeah. Me too." After a minute, he added, "And you hugging me, man, right in front of everybody... I appreciated it, but..." 

"No buts, Chief," Jim murmured, fingers carding through soft curls. "I'm finding it harder and harder to maintain this, this... fiction. But if you need me..." 

Taking a shaky breath, Blair squeezed harder. "Yeah, you could say I needed you then." 

The two men stood in the darkened loft, locked together, sharing pain and love. After several quiet minutes, Blair sniffled and pulled back enough to look at Jim. "Let's go to bed. Will you... I mean, would you..." 

"What, Blair?" 

"Make love to me," Blair murmured finally. "I need to feel you, need to be reminded that you're okay." 

Dipping his head, Jim kissed Blair sweetly. "Anything you want, babe." 

Jim did his best to make the night magical, to erase the specter of the gun from Blair's mind. Gently, carefully, Jim prepared and entered his lover, treating the smaller man as if he were made of spun glass. It was Blair who finally demanded breathlessly that Jim just _fuck_ him; Blair who escalated their lovemaking to a pounding, rhythmic joining. 

Jim slid a pillow under Blair's back, groaning with the pressure of holding back his orgasm, then lifted Blair's legs up to his shoulders. "God... God, Blair..." 

"That's it, Jim," Blair said, panting. "Please, give it to me... please..." 

Unable to stop now had he wanted to, Jim closed his eyes and let his body take over. Blair's cries became louder as he gripped the bedspread in his fists, his eyes tightly closed and body bowed under the pressure. Feeling the edge upon him, Jim reached a trembling hand to Blair's erection, pumping it in time to his thrusts. Blair cried out, and Jim came, stars blooming behind his closed eyes. 

When he came back to himself, Jim looked down to see Blair had not come yet. "Help me, Jim, oh God..." Blair panted, arching his back, his face contorted. Desperately hoping his sheathed penis would remain hard enough, Jim lunged, aiming as best he could for Blair's prostate, as his hand fisted again around his partner's erection. 

"Come on, baby," Jim gasped, caressing Blair's leg with one hand while the other firmly pumped. With a wail, Blair arched harder and came, the salty come striping his belly, his tears leaking from behind his eyelids. 

Gradually, the aftershocks left him and he relaxed, his sobs coming harder now. Jim gently pulled out, tossing the condom into the trash, and stretched out beside the younger man, holding him tightly. "Let it go, babe, let it go," he crooned, brushing Blair's hair back and rocking him soothingly. "It's going to be all right. I promise," Jim added, almost fiercely. "I promise." 

After a while, Blair's sobs subsided, and Jim tenderly wiped his face and belly with tissue before tucking them both into bed, pulling a loose-limbed, exhausted Blair back into his arms. "Meant to ask you," Blair mumbled after a while, his eyes closed. "What did Ho yell before he hit the tank?" 

Jim grinned in the darkness of the loft. "He yelled 'I don't know how to stop this damn thing!'" 

Blair chuckled, and Jim smoothed his hair back, kissing his brow. "Sleep now. The guy's gonna be all right, and now he'll get the help he needs. Tina and Richie are fine, and so am I, thanks to you. We'll get through this, Blair. This isn't going to be our biggest stumbling block." 

"I know," Blair replied, his voice soft. Shortly, Jim's steady breathing next to him made him think the older man had fallen asleep. But Blair stayed awake for a long time, wondering what would have happened had Ervin died at his hands. 

Jim was also awake, only his personal demons were living at the station and taunting him and Blair over their relationship. He was still debating with himself whether to tell Simon before his Captain just found out, when sleep finally overtook him. 

* * *

End

 


End file.
